


The Sun and The Rainfall

by Severina



Category: Young Riders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-09-04
Updated: 2001-09-04
Packaged: 2017-10-23 10:26:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The touch of the sun can make anything beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sun and The Rainfall

Each season holds its own share of splendour. Winter, with its crisp, clean drifts of snow sparkling on every surface, like the glittering diamonds draped round the neck of a society maven. Spring, with its overwhelming perfumes of new growth, new activity, new life. Autumn, with the brisk, bracing winds that roll in from the plains, plucking the cottonwood leaves from their suddenly precarious perch, swirling through town and taking my breath away. But summer has always been my favourite.

The sun beats down on my shoulders as I walk, its warmth and power hammering against my body relentlessly. Its brilliant rays transform this dusty, dry, often inhospitable land into a glistening jewel of undeniable beauty, each tiny grain of dirt shimmering with light. This beauty fills and crowds my thoughts until finally I stop and turn my face to the sky, letting the sun bathe my skin with its radiance.

The touch of the sun can make anything beautiful.

I glance at the barn, its dark wood standing out in stark relief against the cerulean blue of the sky. The tools I need are in the barn. The work I must do is in the barn. But the barn is cold and gloomy and filled with shadows, and I need this warmth. I need this fire. So I stand in the middle of the yard, head flung back, arms outstretched, and give myself to the sun.

The breeze caresses my body, its gentle fingers plucking at the hair that flows down my back, tangling in the longer strands. Pebbles bounce against my boot, playing a discordant tune as they dance in the dust. Eventually the wind picks up, tugging at my shirt, causing it to billow like the sails of some great ship. Eyes closed in supplication, face upturned, I worship the return of summer heat.

I flinch minutely when the first drop of rain hits my face, my lips curving in a smile. Angel tears to cleanse and replenish the land. The droplet is joined by another, and another, until the rain cascades around me, and I do not know how much time passes before I hear the soft footsteps approaching from my left.

I open my eyes and see her regarding me, an expression of undisguised amusement on her face. My woman. My wife, by white law as well as Kiowa. She wraps her arms around her stomach, her pale yellow blouse already soaked by the sudden squall, her thick auburn hair darkened by the weight of water, and shakes her head. She loves me, but she doesn't always understand me.

A booming crack of thunder crashes against our ears, and Claire ducks her head and recoils involuntarily as her eyes scan the sky. But my smile only gets wider as I hold out my hand. I draw her to me, enveloping her in my arms, running my hands along her back, and she breathes a gentle sigh against my neck.

I lead her into a dance, the rain pelting around and against us, and the storm doesn't bother her anymore, and she laughs as I snuggle against her and nuzzle into her throat. We move in unison, our swaying bodies one sinuous form, and when she looks at me her eyes sparkle with the luminosity of a thousand suns.

And the touch of the sun can make anything beautiful.


End file.
